Signs of Snow
by GoWithTheFlo20
Summary: When Harriet Potter wakes up on her birthday to white hair, blue skin, and antennae of all things, she quickly realizes something is amiss. On a journey to find her father, she begins a quest of self-discovery, love, family and hope. As a wise man once said, to appreciate the beauty of a snowflake, it was necessary to stand out in the cold. Fem!Harry. Andorian!Harry. Dad!Shran.
1. Chapter 1

**SIGNS OF SNOW**

* * *

**Prologue:**

**A long morning.**

* * *

Harriet Potter's P.O.V

It was at exactly 6:14 am, on July 31st 1999, that Harriet Potter realised her entire life had been a lie. It was an odd realization to come to. Hollow in a way. Nothing had explicitly changed. She was still Harriet, Harry to her friends, and she had lived what she had, and yet, everything had changed. _Everything._ It felt as if she was standing on a mudslide, rushing up, running as fast as she could, and still, down she went in a wave of dirt and earthworms, and all her fighting against it had been pointless in the face of the truth. Buried. However, that came later. Just like that damned mudslide, the rumbles started slow, too slow for Harry to dodge the hit before it came.

The day before that pivotal birthday, Harry had no such crippling reservations. No. In fact, all had been seemingly going well. Voldemort was gone. Harry, against the odds, was alive. Her friends, minus a few she would never forget, were with her. And, above all, she was turning seventeen on the morrow, an age she never, throughout the war, thought she would ever reach. Yes. Life had been good to her over the last year, and it had only appeared to be going onwards and upwards. Her acceptance letter into advanced Auror training had come on the tail end of last week. She owned her own home, passed on to her from her beloved godfather, Sirius. She had food and clothes, more than she ever had as a child. _Life was good. _Too good, in hindsight.

The first sign that there was anything unseemly coming had been a headache. Just a headache. Nothing special. A little twinge at the temples that, by eight in the morning of the 30th, became a drumming throng, then a pound, and, by one o'clock, Harry thought she was dealing with a migraine. Painful, unpleasant, but not at all too worrying. People, muggle and wizard alike, suffered from headaches every damned day. They came, they went, and they were soon forgotten about. Unfortunately, Harry had never been fortunate, and this particular headache would follow her, like a pebble thrown into a still pond, she would feel the ripples of that innocuous headache for years to come. Nevertheless, like any other muggle out there, she popped some aspirin, closed the curtains of Grimmauld Place and went back to bed to try and sleep most of it off.

Although, it didn't stop at a mere headache, did it? The prickling came next. Pins and needles, tingling, right in Harry's fingertips and toes. She flexed her digits, thinking they were just cold, hoping the movement would warm them up and stop the feeling. It only worsened it. Slowly, it spread, up and out, over calf and thigh, bicep and shoulder, lapping at her face, until it felt like her flesh was crawling right off her skeleton. She had tossed and turned in bed, kicked the blanket right off when it began to feel like sandpaper rasping against her tender skin. Itch, scratch, pat, nothing soothed the prickle. Yet, like the headache, it became worse. A tickle, prickle and then a deep burn as if someone had set her blood on fire. Boiling and roiling through her swollen veins.

Worry began to steep into Harry then, like tea in water swirling herself to amber anxiety, but, as she always did, she brushed it off. Flu. She had the flu. Nothing more. Groaning as she heaved herself from her bed, knees shaking and limbs trembling, she had dragged herself to the bathroom, filled the tub and flopped herself in after yanking and tearing her irritating clothes off. She could barely keep her eyes open for long, the light was too much, the pounding in her head turning keen at the bright lights, and with an errant wave of her hand, the light bulb blinked to black.

Harry didn't know how long she had been in the bath for when the cramps came. Long things they were, muscle knotting and scorching, and even her joints ached, as if some invisible hands were wringing her bones and pulling, stretching. The hot water soothed some of the ache twisting her to one giant open nerve, but when she whimpered and strained out, as her toes touched the bottom of the bathtub and her knees were still bent quite sharply, Harry knew something was terribly wrong.

Harry had always been a short girl, you see. Barely five-four, she had always been a head and shoulder below her friends. Normally, in the bath, if she were to lay flat in the water to wash her hair, only her tiptoes would reach the bottom and the crown of her onyx hair would skim the had been one of the few pleasures Harry had always had, being able to spread out and relax in a tub, no matter how small or cramped it seemed. Now, with her back still pressed against the head of the tub, her knees bent…

The pounding in her head turned violent, a sledgehammer to soft clay, and as Harry flinched, hand coming up to rub at her head, or perhaps try and claw her way into her own skull to pull out the brain that was causing all this, her fingers skimmed something on the border of her hair line. A lump. Large. Growing. Two. One on either side. Harry scrambled for the edge of the tub, but it was like her limbs weren't fully her own, slipping and sliding and gangly as she slipped over the edge and fell to the floor in a heap of pain and incoordination, like a fawn trying to walk for the first time. She didn't remember how she managed to get a towel wrapped around her, neither did she remember how she managed to drag herself to the threshold of the bathroom door, but she remembered, through the haze, calling for her wand.

By the time she sent off her Patronus to the only person she could think of, her thoughts at this point nothing but a muddled potluck of words and phrases that she was having difficulty understanding, the world was flashing in and out of focus in sickening intervals. Propped up against the doorway of the bathroom, breath coming fast and sharp, shivering, aching, Harry's head lolled, her wand fell to her side, and she slid into darkness.

* * *

Hermione Granger's P.O.V

It was exactly 2:45 am that Hermione Granger, in her little flat in Diagon Alley, received Harriet Potter's Patronus. Rubbing crusty sleep from her eyes, dressed only in her slippers and nighty, her heart plummeted as the glowing majestic stag opened its mouth and she heard her friend, so weak, call for her.

_Hermione… Help…_

Of course, Hermione wasted no time in grabbing as much floo powder as her little fist could, dashing into her connected fireplace, and shouting out Grimmauld places address before she was swallowed up in green flames. Her wand was ready in her hand by the time she stepped out of Grimmauld Place's fireplace, shoulders drawn back, feet spread, eyes and ears alert. Merlin knows what was wrong, if Harry had been attacked or not, if her attacker was still skulking around the place, lingering in the shadows, but Hermione wasn't going to get jumped easily. If she did, she was sure, Mad-eye would start spinning in his grave.

Creeping into the foyer, peeking her head around the door to glance into the shadowed hallway, Hermione was hit with how… Silent the house was. No footsteps, no shouts of expelliarmus, no flashes, not even a TV or painting ranting and raving. Silence. It was dark too, thick, rich curtains drawn over window, lights out, candles unlit, night heavy on the house, it was hard to see an arms width in front of her.

"Lumos."

Her wand lit up in a ball of soft pale light, and perched behind the door, Hermione steadied her breathing before she began to slither out and about the house. The bedroom was empty. So was the kitchen. Sirius's old room was empty too, as was the library, Order rooms and potions lab Harry had converted from an old bedroom. Dread sinking her gut, but thankfully having spotted no blood to dampen her hope that her friend was alive and kicking somewhere, Hermione turned to the last room she could think of, before the attic, the bathroom. Looking around, she saw nothing. The tub was full, water cold, the tiles on the floor was slick with water, as if someone had splashed out the bath like a floundering fish, and as she went to step through and into the room, to look around the bend at, what she knew, would be the mirror and cabinets, her foot hit something soft and the next thing she knew, she was falling, barely managing to put her arms out in front of her face before she smacked right into the tile.

Huffing, Hermione scrambled up, slipping once or twice in the puddle of water, and turned, pointing her wand to the lump she had tripped over. Her breath caught in her throat. A body. There was a body. Panicked, Hermione spelled the bathroom and hallway light on, blinking rapidly at the sudden change of light, and finally got a good look at the crumpled heap at her feet. She wished she hadn't.

It was her friend alright, dear Harry, but something was horribly wrong. She was crashed against the door-frame, a puppet with her strings cut, unconscious, wet with a towel haphazardly draped over her body, her wand discarded by the side of her limp hand. Her hair was loose and curly, cascading down her waist, shiny like an oil slick from the water, but… Half of it was white. Bone white. And there, right there, Hermione, with her very own eyes, saw more of her ebony hair leaching itself to white, lock by coiled lock. Bending down, Hermione reached for her friends mouth, feeling the softest of breaths flutter across her knuckle.

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me? Harry?"

There was no answer. Brushing her hair away from her face, Hermione tried to see if her eyes were open, if she was trying to focus, but, as her palm brushed skin to prop her bent head back, something flaked off. Pulling her hand away, Hermione saw flecks of peach dust coating her palm, and as she looked back up, right where her hand had been, she spotted a streak of… Blue. Yes. Blue. Scanning Harry, Hermione saw more of these patches, on her knees pealing through, on her arm, up her throat, blue like a summer's day. Merlin… It was like she was shedding her skin. Then her gaze caught Harry's forehead.

Two… Antennae, that was all Hermione could think to call them, right at her hairline, were wiggling back and forth, frantically almost, as if they… She… Harry, were distressed. Cradling Harry's face once more, Hermione's tone became desperate, freaked, full of fear and concern.

"Harry! Listen to me! Wake up! Can you hear me! Harry!"

Something, blood Hermione thought, even if it was a deep blue, darker than her skin, trickled out of Harry's nose, but her eyes didn't so much as move under closed lid. Conjuring up her own Patronus, Hermione began to heave her unconscious, half naked, bleeding and colour-changing friend, into her arms, huffing at the added weight and height. Careful not to knock her head off the Wall, Hermione, as best as she could, carried Harry back to her room, whispering all the way.

"It's okay. I'm here. Helps coming. Just hold on. You hear me? Hold on."

* * *

Severus Snape's P.O.V

It was exactly 4:01 am when Professor Snape came sweeping into the bedchamber of one Miss Potter in Grimmauld Place, carrying his portable potions lab in a thick leather case, on the behest of a Patronus Otter sprouting nonsense of blue skin and death in the voice of his former student, the know-it-all chit, Miss Granger. None to pleased to be summoned so abruptly, especially when he thought his days of being summoned were well and truly over, Snape was not in one of his best moods. It only soured further when he was pounced upon by Miss Granger as soon as his dragon hide boot touched plush carpet.

"You have to help!"

Reaching up to fiddle with his black silk scarf wrapped snuggly around his neck, Snape bit back down on the derisive reply he wished to give. After all, if it weren't for Miss Granger, alongside with Miss Potter, as loathed as he was to admit it, he would not be here this day. It was Harriet Potter's quick actions of extracting as much venom as she could from his wound that helped prevent his immediate death, and it was Miss Granger's after care that had solidified his life once the two made it back to him after the battle had been won. Oh, to owe his life to such Gryffindors… Still, Severus Snape did not like being indebted to anyone, and so, here he was, hopefully paying back what was owed so he could get on with his sorry life without being dragged into this or that by a gormless Gryffindor.

"Where is Miss Potter?"

Miss Granger buzzed around him like a fruit fly, imprudently snatching up his arm with grabby little hands as she dragged him to the end of the bed, nodding over to it.

"This is her."

Now, there wasn't many instances in Severus Snape's life where he could say he was well and truly shocked to silence. The first time his father hit him. Watching Lily preform magic. Accepting his Dark Mark. That fateful night in Godric's Hallow. He could count them all on one hand. Yet, he found himself in that horrid sort of pitiless disbelief once more as he glimpsed the figure on the bed. The girl on the bed, if it could be called a girl, looked anything but… Human.

Her skin was flushed blue, real blue, all over, from nail bed to eye lid, periwinkle, if he weren't mistaken, and her once long black hair had seeped to stark white, the colour of fresh snow on untouched land, almost blinding in its brilliance, and there, on her head were… Merlin, where those Feelers? She was taller too, six foot upright if Severus had to guess, long limbed and lithe, blue feet dangling off the edge of the bed. If it weren't for her face, which still very much held the features of who he knew to be Miss Potter, a heartbreaking rendition of her mother, Lily, he would have thought this to be some half-breed from a Cornish Pixie. _An overgrown Cornish Pixie_. Due to all this, was it really that surprising that Snape's first assumption, especially in conjunction with exactly who he was dealing with, was this was some sort of prank? No, he didn't think it was.

"If you and Miss Potter believe this to be some funny jest, I advise you to rethink ever calling upon me and-"

Hermione sharply cut him off, her hand tightening bruisingly on his arm.

"I know, I know! This isn't a joke! That's… That's Harry. But she looked… Well, more herself just an hour ago. She's… Turning? I don't know. Somethings wrong. I got a Patronus call for help and when I got here, she was only a little blue, and her hair wasn't so white, and those lumps weren't wiggling like that and-… Professor, please, help."

Locking gazes with Miss Granger, Snape's stomach sank when he saw desperation shining hotly in her bright amber eyes. She wasn't joking. Gaze snapping back to the prone body on the bed, Snape pulled his arm free, stormed over to the side of the bed, placed his bag down on the nightstand, popped the clasp open and began to set to work.

"Move out of the way miss Granger, and please, calm yourself. You'll be no help to your friend if you continue into this state you have worked yourself up in."

From the corner of his eye, Snape saw Miss Granger nod harshly, breathing in heavy through her nose.

"Right… Yes. Calm. I am calm."

Pulling his wand out, Snape ran the point over Miss Potter, sweeping downwards. Lower temperature. Nearly too low. Increased metabolism. Lungs functioning correctly. Two heartbeats slow, but strong… Two heartbeats? Scanning again, Snape had not been mistaken. There were two heartbeats. One in the rightful place just left of the sternum, and the other down and to the side, hidden under bottom ribs.

"Do you know when this started?"

Her Muscle structure reading was also coming back differently, denser. The… Feelers on her head were sending his readings haywire, and, no, she didn't have a spleen, appendix or pancreas anymore. In their place was… Something. Organs, Snape assumed, though he wished to do no assuming should he make a fool out of himself, but it was his best deduction at the moment with his limited knowledge in the magics of Healers. What in Morgana's name was happening?

"I spoke to her this morning. She seemed perfectly fine then. Well, she did say she had a bit of a headache, but I didn't think nothing of it."

Casting a diagnostic spell, one after the other, layers upon layers, all came up blank. No registered curse. No poison, muggle or magical. No residue left by a cursed object. No sign of consumption of any potion, although there was remnants of aspirin in her system.

"Anything else? Was she slurring her speech? Did she say she was bitten by something? Eaten something she wouldn't normally eat?"

Snape went through them again, one by one, and still, nothing. If this was not the work of an outside force, then the cause must be internal, from Miss Potter herself. If he didn't already know that the girl-who-couldn't-stay-out-of-trouble-for-his-sanity had not consumed any potion, he would think this was the work of Polyjuice incorrectly brewed. Had she tried becoming an Animagus? No. That would have came up in the general diagnostic spell he had cast. Teens were always thinking they could tackle the hardest of Transfiguration subjects, with brashness only youth knew, and being caught between human and animal was a common milady in the wizarding world.

"No, none of that. She spoke about meeting up for her birthday tomorrow… Well, today, but she didn't want anything big."

_Her birthday. _Harriet Potter's birthday was today. How old would she be? Seventeen now? Yes, seventeen. Could it be? No. Lily would never… Yet, it was the only clue. Delving back into his potion's bag, Snape pulled free three vials, popping the corks as he mixed the three together, swirling clockwise twenty-five times before he leant over the bed, pried open the clenched jaw of Miss Potter and promptly emptied the contents down her throat, clapping his hand over her mouth as she spluttered against the vile taste before she finally swallowed. Counting in his mind, Snape reached thirty before he ran his wand back over Miss Potter. The light burst to gold.

"Merlin…"

Miss Granger was at his side immediately.

"What? What is it? Do you know what's wrong?"

Snape went back to his bag, pulling out this or that potion, a few herbs and dried specimens. Snape didn't like making potions in a room or house not his own, especially without the right equipment, but dire circumstances called for drastic measures. Or, at least, that was what Albus used to tell him.

"I have a suspicion. Miss Granger, please go and call the Order members here."

Hermione Granger stood stock still at his side, staring down at her friend.

"Now."

Snape barked and Miss Granger jumped, nodding hastily before she darted out the room to floo call those he requested. Busy at work with his potions, Snape only had a moment to glance at Miss Potter before he would have to get to it, should the girl die on his watch. Seeing the blue skin, feelers and white hair once more, he grimaced.

"Oh, Lily, what have you done?"

It was lucky Miss Granger had called him. Not many would know what Miss Potter was going through, and even less would know how to help. Thankfully, Snape did. He was well acquainted with dark magics and, this, was a dark magic indeed. _Sánguinis Mei Virum_.

Blood magic. The darkest of the dark. And this, Sánguinis Mei Virum, blood of my Husband, was one of the oldest blood spells known to the wizarding world. It was an invasive magic, seeping in and re-writing everything it could, from magical core to cells, warping what it could to fit what the caster wished. In a time when Family names were paramount, and infidelity could mean the ruin and shame of a name, witches who, sometimes by pleasure or by force, were begot of a child not their husbands, turned to this very magic in desperation. In short, it forced the child into being, looking, even magically inclined, to resemble the witches husband. Nevertheless, it had been outlawed centuries ago, and fell out of practice even quicker when it was discovered the children under the spell often died horrendously on their seventeenth birthday, when their magical cores were strong enough to battle the aggressive Blood magic and shirk it off. The reverting process too taxing, and often too violent, for the victim to survive.

Harriet Potter, or Harriet as it likely was to be, was such a victim, and right now, she was battling for her very life. If Snape was not fast enough, she would be dead within the next two hours. Merlin knew why Lily was so desperate to use such a spell, her and James, as bitter as Snape was to admit it, were deeply in love, or so he thought, but perhaps the blue skin, white hair and feelers had been incentive enough for Lily to hide her… Indiscretion. and how did Lily even know of such a spell to begin with? And who, or what by the current predicament of Harriet, was her real father? Snape sighed.

He had a long, long morning in front of him and no firewhiskey in sight.

* * *

**Woo or Boo?**

**NOTE: **Well, I am getting quite the collection of Harry is an Alien fanfic based in Star trek lol. I know I should be working on them, the fics I've already got going, and I really do plan to, but every time I sit down to write up another chapter, this very plot bunny pops right into my head and refuses to leave. In the end, I couldn't help myself, so here it is, the fic no one asked for, Harry as an Andorian!

Andorians get far less love then they deserve, little fanfiction, and hardly any recognition and so, this is my, most probably horrible, attempt at waving the Andorian empires flag. This will be a deep dive into the Andorian race, culture and, of course, beliefs, so expect much interpretation on my part, as not much is given in strictly canon sources. Even so, I might be twisting some stuff, as I want to add my own little spice into the mix.

**As for this fic itself, **it's mainly about a journey to self-discovery, heritage, traditions and finding ones place in the world, or galaxy, in this case. There will be romance, but not in the traditional senses of the word. This Harry will have a Harry/OC/OC/OC pairing, with the OC's being Andorian, all of which are my own creation (And, if I do say so myself, I've worked really hard on every single one of them), and playing with the half canon notion that Andorian's have four genders and often Marry/mate in quadruplets. So, if you're offended by things that play with the concept of gender, none traditional (Explicitly heterosexual) pairings, strong clan mentality, or what else could be construed as 'alien' behaviour, I really would advise that this fic isn't for you, it won't be for everyone, and I hope you find a fic that fills all your needs on the next try.

**Most importantly**, this fic is about family, the bonds between family and how that can both positively and negatively impact a person, or Andorian. The relationship between Harry and Shran will be a heavy focal point, and will likely be the thread holding this story together. So, here we go kids, buckle up!

If you have a spare moment, please drop a review, they let me know whether to continue or not. I hope you all enjoyed this little prologue, and, hopefully, more will be coming soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One: Pay The Price.**

* * *

Shran's P.O.V

_The first sign something wasn't quite right aboard the Kumari had been the energy fluctuations. The ships shield generator had been the first to become unstable, quickly followed by their warp drive containment field and, finally, trailed by their primary systems misaligning. Though the volatility in such valuable systems was worrying to Commander Thy'lek Shran, the variations in power had been so negligible it had not caused great concern. Assigning some engineers to the task of finding and fixing the problem, in the beginning, had seemed an appropriate fit for such a dilemma. _

_If only the problem had limited itself to being so insignificant._

_Soon, the engineers allocated to fixing the problem had begun to report back sightings of, what they called, crackles in the air. Bursts of light, one had said, like the floating glaciers of the frozen sea of Laiken had crashed, causing ice blinks to light up the sky. Another had described it as coronas of pale, ghostly light, a flash here, a flash gone. _

_The last, Shur'keth, an Imperial Guard who had spent his fair share of time in prison on Tellar Prime for the allegation of spying and subterfuge, had said it reminded him of the sandstorms he had seen from his cell, where the sky lit up with bolts of lightning, he called it, only smaller. Shran had never seen this 'lightning', Andoria suffered from no such natural phenomenon, but given that even Shran could add bright light, depletion in energy, and instability together, he knew the combination would not likely equate to something good. _

_Still, Shran and his crew could not find the root cause of this, and three hours after the first report of sighting this small 'lightning' on his ship came to his own ears, the big one came. He was on his Command deck at the time, discussing the matter with his head engineer when, from the left of the Command deck, flashes of white light began to crack and zap out, swirling out from an invisible point in the air. A few of his crew were quick to draw their phasers, others backed away, and one or two went to try and shut down power in the surrounding systems, but all were too slow to act._

_The loud crack of air splitting nearly made Shran's ears ring and antennae spin as the Command deck sickeningly flashed to white, followed by a thud and what sounded like a female scream. By the time his senses began to work again, he barely had enough time to see what looked like a ripple in the air, like Denobulan silk, translucent and glowing, flapping around an arch of lightning, a veil perhaps, before it was gone. However, in its wake, it had left… Something. _

_A woman. _

_She had stood from her sprawled position on the floor, long limbed, dressed so strangely, skin an odd shade of… Pink. Yes, pink. And hair the colour of precious Vulcan Ruby, shiny and bright and curly, with no antennae. She had looked right at him, wide eyed, with a gaze greener than anything Shran had ever imagined. Of course, in the presence of what was obviously an alien, aboard his ship which was meant to be in covert operations, he had pulled out his own phaser and aimed it right at her head._

"_What are you doing aboard my ship?"_

_He had demanded. Her gaze flickered between the point of his phaser, his own eyes, and he saw the threat slowly register on her face before fury set those green, green eyes on fire. Without delay, she had pulled out a thin, spindly stick of some sort, pointed it right at him and his world, again, had flashed to colour._

_Oh, their Lily had been glorious even then… _

It was the flash and spark of a live, detached conduit line dangling from the mangled ceiling of his Command deck that shook Thy'lek Shran from his unconscious stupor, _her_ name still cresting on his tongue. Rolling his neck, he groaned as he felt a pounding strike up in his temple, something moist and sticky dribbling down, over the curve of his cheek, and dripping off his chin.

Blood.

Reaching down, Shran heaved off the plate of metal pinning his legs to the floor, trilling in relief when neither of his legs refused to move. At least he wasn't bleeding _and _broken. Give sacrifice to the spirits for small gifts. Scrambling for the nearest console, thankfully that which was at his back, Shran smashed in the keys for Comm, leaning heavily against the edge.

"Bridge to engineering."

Nothing. Shran heard _nothing_ but the whirring of the Computer siren declaring critical condition. He hit the keys for Engineering again, his voice heavy and slick.

"Engineering, respond!"

Glancing around, Shran spotted the central communications station just a few feet away, through the absolute wreckage that was once his Command deck. Sliding and ducking, Shran winced as he was forced to lift a dead crewman, Ethobaahr, from he's slumped stretch over the screen. Mentally, he promised to return the tactical officers ushaan-tor back to his clan, so it may be given to his children.

In the cold light of such devastation, for the honour and loyalty Ethobaahr had given in his duty to the Imperial Guard, it was the least Shran could do. Nevertheless, he had no time to mourn yet, no time to plan funeral rites or Clan meetings, and instead, left Ethobaahr against the station, dead and drooping, as he tapped away once more.

"This is the warship Kumari calling Imperial Command. We've been attacked by a Tellarite vessel. Primary systems have failed. Request immediate-"

An explosion burst from above his head, another set of conduit lines blowing from overload, just as the ship lurched heavily to the right. Shran scarcely managed to stay standing, grappling for the communication station with tight hands and bleeding knuckles. From over what remained of the systems, Kumari's voice, even and plain, rang out in the dead silence of Shran's ship.

"Warning. Warp containment breach in two minutes."

Shran's antennae bent forward, tip to tip, pointed as he punched at the station and roared.

"Tellarite swine! They'll pay for this…"

Shran had lost so much already, and hurt, bleeding, in the bitter dead silence of his ship, as he blinked, he saw red hair, green eyes, and a pink hand splayed over a pink stomach just shy of becoming round. It was joined by a blue hand, and another, and another…

He shook the thought away as soon as it came. _Later. _ He may have lost them, and now, he may be losing his ship, but he would not loose the remainder of his crew. Squaring his shoulders, choking down his pride, Shran tapped the symbol for ship wide alert.

"This is Shran. All crew to the escape pods…"

Shran's antennae folded down, sagging like wilted challorn flower stems, as he gave the one order no Commander or Captain ever wanted to give.

"Abandon ship."

* * *

Shran's P.O.V

The med bay on the human star ship Enterprise was a confusing amalgamation of all things pink skin. The beds were separated, small and lonely looking, with curtains hanging from bars to offer what, Shran had heard a human call,_ privacy_. An almost offensive notion to any Andorian worth their honour. There was no music or communal buffets to be seen, staples in any Andorian healing quarter. And, by the spirits, there was not a single cushion to hand. Everything was minimalistic, streamlined and incredibly solitary and unsympathetic. Basically, everything not so very Andorian.

"This would go a lot easier if you'd take a few steps back."

The doctor, a Denobulan called Phlox, brightly said and it took a, embarrassingly, long moment for Shran to understand the doctor's complaint. Right, yes. _Personal space. _Captain Archer was always reminding him, in their few run-ins, of that very foreign concept. These aliens need for space, nearly at all times in contradictory ways to his own people, was one of the sole reasons Shran believed an Andorian could never fully integrate in this sort of environment.

Andorians thrived in collective settings, physical contact was a must, and this thought of 'personal space' was a very real repugnant notion to them. It was akin to asking a Vulcan to cut their ears off, and, well, Shran _had_ asked one or two to do so, and had seen first-hand the reply that little insult got from the green-bloods. Andorians slept together, bathed together, ate together, healed together, and this unsociable way of life these humans presented almost turned his stomach. Evidently, this Denobulan doctor had spent too much time around the humans to remember that. Nevertheless, Shran may have been wrong. Lily had always rambled on about this 'personal space' too, and she had adapted well enough-

Shran took a step back, but that was all he was willing to give. Talas was perched on the bed the doctor was currently hovering over, leaning back on her elbows, ready to leap into action should the need call for it, and Shran was not about to abandon one of his Bondmates for anything, especially for carelessness on his part, not again, even if he ended up disturbing the pink skins ideas of propriety.

Still, he couldn't help but let a slither of frustration nibble away at his secondary heart. This would be so much easier if they had bigger beds, one for him to lay beside Talas with, and the others too, all together, so they could heal each other as was their way rather than having one doctor bounce to and from station to station. Yet, he let it go. Archer had answered his, and most importantly, his crews distress call after all, and if playing pink skin for a few standard hours was what it took to repay that, paint Shran peach.

"I hope you've studied Andorian physiology."

The _or else_ was implied. Talas cocked her head at Shran, a sign of anger in an Andorian, not confusion or curiosity as with a human, a fact that had caused many… Incidents between the two races in their early relationship, but he could see the amused curl of her antennae.

Before the Denobulan could answer, or perhaps Talas could quip back, the doors to the med bay swooshed open and the Captain himself, Archer, came strolling in. It was a shame he was followed by his Vulcan officer too. Nevertheless, Shran was upon him in seconds.

"How many of my crew did you rescue?"

Archer was silent for a while, watching him, but, as Shran had come to respect about this particular pink skin, as with their Lily-… Archer didn't mince his words. He spoke simply and clearly. Although, he did lower his voice an octave.

"Nineteen."

Shran's antennae reared back separated, nearly flat against his skull in a heady mix of grief and anger. Immediately, his gaze snapped to Talas. Perhaps he was looking for comfort, or denial, something to ease the blow, but Shran found he couldn't keep the contact, afraid she would see his shame. Nineteen… _Nineteen._

Once again, he was back to thinking of beds, those clan beds back in Andoria, _home_, one less Andorian to warm the sheets and cushions, one less for the younglings to use as pillows, one less… So many. Unwittingly, his eyes trailed to the beds filled by injured Andorians around him and that pit of frustration turned to anguish.

"Our complement was eighty-six."

Archer came up to his side from his back, but his Vulcan officer, T'Pol, stayed close to the door. Good. There was only so much stimulation Shran could take with his frayed nerves as they were, and the rancid smell of a Vulcan was not a note he wanted to add to the foetid perfume of blood, sick and death clinging in this med bay.

"Your distress call says you were attacked?"

Shran swivelled around at Archer's question.

"Tellarites. We were escorting our ambassador to the trade conference when they dropped out of warp. The ambassador's ship was destroyed in seconds. The Tellarites crippled us with their next shot."

Shran could still see the blue blaze of the Andorian ambassadors ship exploding on his view screen back on the Kumari. _Blue_. The Tellarites had a clean shot at his warp drive, the only explanation for the explosion leaning towards the blue hue and not the traditional white of a breached hull, the containment field would have gone down in seconds. Yet, his antennae furled together in perplexity.

"I've never seen one of their vessels manoeuvre like this one."

Leveling Archer with a heated stare, Shran had to flex his fingers to stop from balling his hand into a fist. No. He would save his anger for the appropriate recipient.

"While those Tellarites have been talking peace, they've obviously been improving their warships."

T'Pol pulled away from the door, face blank, tone ringing bored and exasperated to Shran's senses, hands primly clasped behind her back.

"Why would the Tellarites agree to let Earth mediate your dispute if they were planning this strike?"

Of course, the Vulcan wouldn't understand. The Tellarites did what they wished, when they wished, how they wished, beyond the scope of her logical understanding. The Andorians had been dealing with the Tellarites for centuries. Shran, himself, had been on the end of their attacks for most of his career in the Imperial Guard. The last time he and his ship had been attacked by Tellarites, there had been no incitement, no reasoning behind it, and Lily had-

"Perhaps you should ask _them_."

Shran barked and quickly turned back to Archer. No doubt the Vulcan was doubting his recollection of events, they often sided with the Tellarites before the humans had come onto the astropolitical scene, and, prospectively, she was edging towards a conclusion that would dismiss anything and everything the Andorians had to say on the matter. Not this time. Shran wouldn't allow this to be dismissed. Not the death of sixty-seven of his own men. The Tellarites had gotten away with too much for too long on the Vulcan notion of peace and treaties. What good were accords when, within a cycle, the Tellarites broke them and were back to pushing at their boarders and attacking Andorian colonies?

"I suggest you scan for our data recorder. It'll contain the censor logs of the attack."

The Vulcan would have a harder time disputing the Kumari's censor logs than just his word, and if the log was what it cost to have the pink skins finally see that the Andorians weren't merely paranoid and volatile, as the Vulcans often viewed them, then it was a fair trade. Either way, the censor log had been stripped of most… Sensitive data before their mission to escort the Andorian ambassador, and so, the Imperial Guard's more covert missions that the Kumari had acted on was kept well and truly safe. Shran watched as Archer turned to T'Pol, nodding. The Vulcan remained staring at him for a while before she, too, nodded and left the med bay, off to find the censor log in the Kumari's wreckage.

"We seem to keep running into each other, Captain. It's fortunate Enterprise was close by."

Shran saw the lump in Archer's throat bob at his question. Idly, Shran wondered what it signified in this human. Lily's had only ever bobbed when she was holding back a moan in bed, when Thrass, himself or Talas were-… His eyes closed. _Not here_. Obviously, Archer was not under the throes of sexual excitement, so, what had the Captain on edge? Unfortunately, Archer gave him the answer.

"It's not a coincidence… We're carrying the Tellarite delegation."

Shran's head cocked to the side, his antennae straight and proud on his head. Rage, undiluted, came crashing down upon him like an avalanche, frigid, thick and hefty.

"They're aboard this ship?"

Archer shook his head, eyes closing before slowly opening back up and staring right at him.

"These aren't the people who attacked you."

No, perhaps not. But they could have very easily been the ones to attack all those years ago. Despite the Imperial Guards best efforts, Shran's included, over the years, they had never been able to find those unhonourable pigs, and it had felt like they had simply faded back into space, as swift as they had come. Just like how Lily had been taken from them. There one blink and gone the next.

"_Get bellow deck! Head to the escape pods! We will meet you there!" _

_Shran said, and Lieutenant Thrass was already leading Lily towards the lift, much in sync with Shran on the matter, but she was taking none of it. She escaped out from his straining grasp and headed straight for Shran, shouting over the blare of the alert siren. _

"_I'm not leaving any of you! We either go together or none of us go!" _

_The ship lurched. Talas's voice bellowed out from his side, over by the tactical station. _

"_Commander, the Tellarites have locked their targeting systems on our warp drive!" _

_Everything was happening at once, and through it all, the chaos, all Shran could see, through Lily's bridge uniform, was the swell of her stomach. _

"_Evasive manoeuvres!"_

_The Kumari turned, flanking onto its side, and it was the worst choice Shran had ever made. Careless. The shot from the Tellarite vessel missed their warp drive but struck into the Bridge hull. The Kumari rolled, lights flickered, and Shran barely succeeded in catching Lily before she went sailing over the deck. His hand settled over her stomach, fingers splayed, feeling the stretch of skin and warmth, humans were so warm, blooming out from his palm. _

"_Go! Please. For the child."_

_It would be the last thing he ever said to her. Lily nodded, went to leave, it was going to be alright… And then Talas's station sparked. Shran couldn't grab Lily quick enough as she dashed for their other Bondmate, wrestling with her shoulders, pushing Talas away with a sharp shove from the side. _

_Shran wasn't quick enough to reach Lily, the ship was hit again as he went to run, and he went careening onto his front, Thrass tripping over him as he too rushed for their Bondmate. _

_Shran wasn't quick enough to do more than lift his head and watch as the station blew, fire and light swallowing Lily's form as she glanced back with eyes he would never forget. _

_When the light settled, the fire hot but low, she was gone. Vaporized. Nothing but a black scorch mark of feet on ground. Even her sack, the one they had all packed together for her trip to Andoria, which had been strapped to her back, was gone, not a thread to be found. _

_Shran would never forget the way Talas threw herself where Lily had been, cries of no, no, no, no tumbling from her lips, the still, shocked face of Thrass, or the burn of his own throat as he gave a shout of agony just as the Tellarite Vessel ceased their attack and jumped back into warp. _

Shran snapped back and he could taste ash on his tongue. Hopefully, soon, it would be Tellarite blood.

"They may know who did."

Shran argued as he stalked past Archer, to go and find that Tellarite _karskat kav, _and he had almost made it to the door before Archer caught up to him, snatched up his arm, and tried to tug him back.

"Shran! You're aboard _my_ ship."

Shran wrenched his arm free and was about to carry on with his hunt when he heard the distinct sound of boots hitting the floor. Talas was up from her med bed, hand pressed into her side from her still healing injury, but ready and waiting. If Shran went to track down the Tellarites and exact justice, as was his due, Talas would follow, he knew. The justice was equally rightfully hers to take. And, as Shran saw her free hand lift to her neck, fiddling with the cord around her throat, little flower charm on the end, a gift from what felt like a lifetime ago, he poignantly knew she too was thinking of green eyes and round stomachs. It was Talas's bondmate and child that had been lost too, after all.

Talas had followed him in everything, good and bad, since that dreadful day seventeen years ago. Yet, if she were to follow him in the state she was currently in, her injuries would likely become worse. Moreover, Archer was right. The Enterprise was _his _ship, and the humans had come to their aid with no obligation or requirement in place. That was a debt Shran now owed.

Shran swept the med bay with a keen eye. His men were looking to him. One had even, despite the broken leg, haggled themselves up to a sitting position, hand resting on the hilt of their phaser, ready to follow too. So many Andorian lives lost, this day and many days previously, and the weight of those spirits were pressing down on him in that moment. On the back of his eyelids, he saw those green eyes again.

_No. _

No more lives lost. Not today, at least. Still, pressing in close to Archer, voice as dangerous as a snowbank snake, Shran gave the only ultimatum he could with the ghost of such grief and anger haunting him, both with old wounds that had never healed and only festered in rage, a kelthreh in tatters, and new ones with the weight of sixty-seven spirits.

"You better keep them away from us. Or there _will_ be bloodshed."

* * *

Shran P.O.V

Four standard hours later, after most of his own wounds had been healed by the doctor Phlox, Commander Shran found himself being summoned to Captain Archer's private quarters with the tempting offer of sharing a bottle of Andorian Ale. Being the Thaan he was, how could he refuse?

Of course, Shran knew Archer was probably bartering for more information under the guise of a drink, but, then again, Shran had nothing to hide. In fact, he partly hoped this little impromptu get together with the human would, in effect, give himself some of the answers he was searching for.

Shran knew, from personal experience, that humans had difficulty holding their Andorian ale, and, unfortunately for them, their tongue often got loose when they indulged too much. Captain Archer's offer of sharing a drink seemed to slide more into Shran's favour than Archer's own. Especially if, as Shran suspected, this was a ploy to get him talking.

Unfortunate that Archer did not know that, unlike humans, the more inebriated an Andorian was from alcohol, the more blind they became, their speech unhindered. Perhaps it would be a lesson Archer would one day learn, if they kept running into each other like this.

So, there Shran found himself, sitting opposite Captain Archer at his quarter's table, glass of Andorian ale clasped tightly in his fist, raising it up and over to the Captain.

"To the Kumari."

A human custom Shran had learned from Lil-… He had learned to keep it short, this custom, precise, clear. It was a bit like Andorian poetry, really, this 'toast'. Brief but with so much meaning behind it. To the Kumari seemed a fitting brother to that tradition. In truth, it was only a ship. Yet, it was so much more. Shran had been in command of that ship for nearly two decades. He had spent all of his adult life on that ship. He had met Talas, Thrass, and Lil-… He had created a Kelthreh in those very walls.

He had also lost so much in that ship. So much so, that with it gone, wreckage in space and in the Enterprise cargo bay, no longer at his side, he felt that loss achingly. Shran downed his ale in one foul sweep, watching as Archer took a long sip of his own.

"From what I saw-…"

Archer winced heavily as he tried valiantly to swallow the burning ale, choking halfway through his sentance. For the first time all day, Shran's antennae wiggled in amusement.

"She was a fine ship with a good crew."

_A fine ship with a good crew,_ Archer said. Shran almost wished that was all the Kumari was to him. If it was, it would make all this so much easier. No. The Kumari had been his last tie to Lily. The one thing he had left of her, that she had touched, breathed, slept in… And it was gone, with it, what little he had. What little Talas and Thrass had too. All they had was memories now. Memories and ghosts.

Shran rolled the glass around his hand, eyeing it. His fingerprints left marks on the glass, smudged snowflakes, and he thought back to when he was a child himself, back when his own Thaan used to take him ice painting in the tunnels of the Northern Waste on Andoria. He would spend hours down there, with one of his fathers, etching away until, there, right before him, stood a wall of snowflakes. By the time the week cycle would pass, the ice would freeze back in, smother his work, and he would start all over again, laser etcher in hand, proud Thaan by his side.

Shran had planned to take his youngling to those very walls and teach them how to ice paint as he had... Before that youngling was stolen from him by members of those aboard this very ship. He stretched over the table, snatched up the bottle of ale and poured himself another shot.

"I was in command of the Kumari for nineteen years. The first ship of her class. Most of the crew I'd served with even longer. They were more than colleagues. I knew their spouses, their… Children."

How many other Thaans, Chans, Shens or Zhens aboard his ship had planned on taking their children ice painting? How many more could not do so now? And that was why he was talking. Shran_ needed_ Archer to understand.

The Tellarites were not bloodless in this feud, as much as they liked to pretend they were, and now, if you only counted now, this day, sixty-seven were gone. Sixty-seven mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children, parents, snap, gone. Nothing… _Nothing_ was more important to an Andorian than their clan. Such loss would not be taken lightly. It _could_ not be taken lightly.

Andorians did not breed as easily as the other races around them. It took four Andorians to produce one child and, even then, fertility was an issue, and procreation was a complex dance. In most quads, it took decades to beget a youngling. As a human would know it, their genders weren't binary. Oh, they could be described in the binary terms of female and male, Thaan and Chan being that of male and Shen and Zhen of female, but it was extremely more complicated than that.

Zhen's, the carriers of the younglings, the only gender that had a womb, had sparse fertile periods where, upon the bonded quadruple, they would emit certain pheromones that stimulated the necessary gametes of the Thaan, Chan and Shen. The Shen produced the egg needed for fertilisation, but could only do so when the Zhen omitted those pheromones. The Thaan and Chan would then fertilize the egg both with a quarter of the DNA needed, the last two quarters coming from the Shen's egg, and when that egg, partially fertilized, was lastly implanted into the Zhen's womb by the Shen, where, upon gaining the last gametes it needed, it would latch and become an embryo.

It took four parents, four sets of genetic code, to create one Andorian. In so, children were prized above all else. In Shran's own quad, he was a Thaan, Thrass a Chan, Talas a Shen, and Lily… Well, it had turned out humans were a lot less complex in the gender arena and their pheromones just as... Potent. Their females having both parts of the Shen and Zhen, and, against all odds, human women, at least, could comfortably fill the Zhen role, their eggs unsuited for Andorian DNA but their womb more than compatible, and, additionally, their fertile periods were monthly. Monthly!

No wonder there were so many humans flooding into space.

So, when Shran said they had lost their child, he really did mean _theirs_. The youngling had been equally his, Thrass's, Talas's and Lily's. Having lived through the pain of losing something so rare, so precious, _a child, _not just his Bondmate, but _their_ child, he knew all to well the pain many Andorian parents felt when news came to their clan that their child had been slain in another Tellarite battle. And he knew the thirst for justice that would come, the need for answers, the desire to see those who would harm and take something so treasured and prized from them, come to meet the same fate those Tellarite swine had gifted their children. It was any Andorian parents right.

If Archer was going to be a part of this conference, if he was going to inject himself between the Tellarites and the Andorians, this one truth needed to be understood. A death of a child, no matter how old, would not be taken without it being repaid in kind by the death of those who killed them. And Tellarites had a foul habit of attacking nurseries first on their strikes on Andorian colonies, knowing exactly what they were doing, despite the lies they had recently exclaimed to the Vulcans that they thought the nurseries had been secret bases. So, no. Andoria could not take this lightly. Shran could not take this lightly.

"I'm grateful Talas survived. If I lost her…"

In the light of the spirits, Shran did not rightly know what he would do if he lost another of his Kelthreh to a run in with the Tellarites. Archer cocked a brow.

"I didn't realize there was something going on between the two of you."

This was the part in the conversation where Shran had a choice. He could divert the topic, brush over his own losses and wounds, and leave the pink skin as blind to the Tellarites as the Vulcan's wished them to be, or as blind as the Vulcans were if they truly believed the front the Tellarites projected. Or, he could speak of the one thing he dared not, not to anyone outside his own quad, pick and pluck at a wound that had not stopped bleeding for seventeen years, and in so, in sharing his pain, prep Captain Archer for the severity of the situation, and therefore, perhaps, explain why the Andorians distrusted the Tellarites so.

Shran chose the latter.

"We've been bonded for eighteen years. Before, I would have never considered a relationship with someone under my command."

Archer sipped some more at his ale.

"What changed?"

Andorians loathed lying, it was despicable. However, Shran knew he couldn't very well tell Archer the full extent of his own story. Not only were they classed as Imperial security risks, Shran doubted, even with how open-minded Archer appeared to be, that he would believe Shran when he told of a human, capable of atomic manipulation, that had appeared aboard his ship seventeen years ago, lightyears away from earth, in Andorian space one day.

He doubted even more that Archer would believe this human had, finding themselves trapped there, slowly fallen in love with not one, but three other Andorians, bonded to them willingly, against the odds became pregnant, only to die before all this was ever brought before any other humans eyes.

No. The pink skins believed first contact had happened on P'Jem, with Archer and himself, only a few years ago, not between a woman called Lily nearly two decades ago. It was best to keep that belief alive. Still, Shran refused to lie, and so chose to give as much as he could in context which might be taken in by Archer.

"Me and Talas fell in love with the same mate who had… Come aboard my ship six months prior. Neither of us knew the other was interested in her. Talas, of course, upon finding out I was trying to court the same mate, fought me for the right to her bed. She nearly cut my arm off in combat. Lil-… Our mate discovered what was happening, found us in time, and nearly put us both in the med bay for our behaviour. I think that only consolidated both our choices in her."

Shran's antennae wiggled.

"I found myself getting to know Talas over the following months after our fight, and her already bonded mate, Thrass, Kumari's science officer, who too had been trying to court our fourth mate, it all… Fell into place. Thrass had been to soft in his approach, Talas to obscure, I so blunt she thought I was joking."

At this, Archer chuckled. Shran could find humour in it now too, though he did not originally. In that time, he had only found it beyond frustrating.

"It was natural. It was a bit of a shock to our fourth mate, she wasn't used to such… Customs, and we had to outrightly declare what it was we were trying to do, more than once... But we loved each other. Deeply. One month after declaring shelthreth, the intent to bond, we were."

Archer nodded.

"That's right, Andorians marry in quads, don't they?"

Marry. What an utterly human word. Andorians did not marry. Andorians bonded. Atom to atom, clan to clan, spirit to spirit. Lily had understood that. But she was gone and their Kelthreh was shattered.

Talas stayed by his side constantly, for love, he knew, but also because in her own grief, she needed someone who understood, who felt her pain, to shoulder that burden by her side in duty. Thrass was on a science vessel now. Although he visited as often as he could to see his other Bondmates, his visits were habitually short, and though he said nothing, the longer he stayed, the more sorrow Shran could see settling in his dark eyes when he rolled over in their bed and found the empty space, or he accidentally set four platters of food instead of three, and he would need to go, run from it. Something Shran did not, could not, blame him for.

He loved Talas and Thrass, he truly did, bone deep and ice clear, he loved them as they loved him, and they had loved lily, and there was nothing Shran could do to ease this pain. That's what hurt the most, he thought. He could not fix this, fix them, bring Lily back, their child back, and it was his biggest failure. Shran could not verbalize any of this, not one word, his tongue felt fatty, useless, glued to the roof of his mouth. All he could do was revert to human expressions, the tiniest of nods.

"Well, at least they are waiting for you back on Andoria."

Shran poured himself another shot, downed it, repeated.

"Thrass is, yes."

Archer frowned.

"And the other?"

Shran locked eyes with Archer from over the table, blue clashing with hazel, and now was his chance to tell Archer just how dangerous the Tellarites were.

"Killed seventeen years ago. She was carrying our child."

Archer's reaction was immediate, an intake of sharp breath through flared nostrils, a clench of jaw and a tightness to his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Shran cut him off.

"She became pregnant quickly after our bonding, a rarity and unexpected, especially given our circumstances, but beyond welcomed. Of course, a warship is no place for a pregnancy, much less one doing the covert missions we were, and so we planned to return her and Thrass to Andoria, finish our mission, and then I and Talas would join them in our new clan home."

Shran's hand slipped to the edge of the table, tightening, grounding himself to something real.

"We were by the boarders of Vulcan and Andorian space, refilling a mining colony with supplies, when we started to leave to go back home. That's when the Tellarite vessel appeared. They opened fire without provocation, warning or regret. We called for aid. The Vulcans _ignored_ us. I later found out the Vulcans had a listening post not a lightyear away. They heard our call for help and they turned a blind eye."

His voice was raising now, Shran knew, but he could not stop it.

"The Tellarites got a surprise shot at our shield generator. Their next hit nearly cleaved my bridge in two. Primary systems began to fail and the auxiliary system overheated. There was an explosion. Our mate, our pregnant mate, pushed Talas out the way. She did not have time to remove herself from the blast radius. There were no bodies to take back to Andoria and entomb in the great ice wall of our clansmen. Not even a lock of hair. She was simply… Gone. Our child too."

Shran leant forward, pushing into Archer's space.

"We had been in a peace accord for five standard years when the Tellarites attacked. A peace accord Andoria had stuck to! They showed no sign of wanting to renegotiate the treaty, no communications were received prior, nothing. We were at peace, and then we weren't. They declared war behind our back, lied to us as they built their militia, using the smoke screen of treaties to hide their activities, mounted up an assault, and attacked twenty-three of our vessels, some merely transport pods containing unarmed civilians. Many lives were lost that day, my bondmate and child's included."

Humans had the odd habit of changing colours like the sky. Too much sun and some turned darker. Others gained spots, little taupe flecks. Shran's own Lily, when angered, or in high passions, blistered to a bright red, like a Thy'mlen fish who flashed when hunting. In the dull lighting of his personal quarters, sitting opposite Shran, glass firmly held in his hand, Archer seemed to almost bleach himself to a weary white.

"You have my deepest sympathies."

What good were sympathies? They regained nothing, changed nothing, created nothing. They were empty words and, as any true Andorian, Shran abhorred hollow words. Yes, he wanted something profounder, truer, from Archer. _Comprehension_. For all their sakes, he hoped the human would get it.

"I do not need your sympathies, Captain. I need your understanding. Do you see? The Tellarites, as agreeable as they may appear to be, are callous, deceptive and vicious. Tread carefully when you deal with them, or pay the price as I did."

Archer's mouth cracked open, reply bubbling forward, but Shran shifted. He had said all he needed to say, all he could say on the matter, and now that Archer knew, Shran felt no need to dig further into memories best left alone.

"I regret that you're drawn into another one of our conflicts, Captain."

Archer, as intuitive as Shran had come to respect and admire about him, picked up the unspoken declaration that Shran would not speak any further on the matter. Archer leant back into his chair, taking the diversion in conversation effortlessly with practiced ease, even edging to lighten the mood with a touch of humour.

"I seem to have a knack for it."

Shran's fingers tapped away on the metal table between them, striking up the tune of an old Andorian lullaby. One he never got to hum to his youngling.

"I doubt war can be avoided this time. When that sensor data is seen by Imperial Command…"

Archer's gaze drifted off to the wall at Shran's back, face screwing up as if he was chewing tough hide. Another bizarre feature about humans, their faces could do so much, change so much, in a matter of seconds. It was almost amazing they could recognize each other upon sight.

"It doesn't make sense. Why agree to a conference and then attack your ambassador?"

Obviously Shran's antennae, which were drawn back, virtually flush against his skull, wasn't getting the message across. Neither had his sordid, sorrowful past if Archer was still questioning why a Tellarite would do anything, if only because they _could._

"Tellarites don't think like you or I do. They've been provoking us for centuries. For months they've been encroaching upon our space. We've already lost six freighters along our boarders within the last cycle. We know they're responsible."

Captain Archer was quick to retort.

"The Tellarites claim they've lost ships of their own."

Certainly, they had. A good portion of them might have been vessels Shran himself had sent down. Shran, and no other Andorian, would dispute that. However, violence enacted in the daunting response of defence was wholly different to violence without reason or incitement. Archer, having faced the threat of the Xindi, a threat Shran and the Andorians had stood shoulder to shoulder with the humans, should know that already. Furthermore, having done such, Shran expected a little more respect from the man opposite him.

"You'd take their word over ours?"

Archer fumbled, too slow to answer, and as Shran really started to lose his temper, the spirits seemed to be, indeed, on the humans side this day. The Comm system bleeped, a smooth voice mired by the slight crackle of the computer.

"T'Pol to captain Archer."

Archer broke their staring contest to glance behind him, up to the control panel above his head. Stretching up, he slapped at the switch.

"Go ahead."

"There is a ship on an intercept course. It is Andorian."

Andorian? Had Imperial Command received the Kumari's distress call? What had taken them so long? At Archer's questioning look, Shran simply stood and it seemed to be answer enough for the Captain. After telling T'Pol the two were on their way, the pair headed towards the bridge, leaving an open, half empty bottle of Andorian ale on the table. As the door swooshed shut behind them, the crackle of energy flickering in the air zipped, as little sparks of lightning, white and hot, began to arc around an invisible point in the air.

* * *

**DICTIONARY**

**Karskat**\- Misbegotten; Badly conceived, contemptable.

**Kav**\- Liar.

**Kelthreh**\- Smaller family unit from a clan consisting of Bondmates and children.

**Shelthreth**\- The name of the ritual in which four Andorians are bonded.

**Thaan**\- One half of what would be considered 'male' gender in Andorian physiology.

**Chan**\- The second half of what would be considered 'male' gender in Andorian physiology.

**Shen**\- First half of what would be considered 'female' gender in Andorian physiology. Carries the eggs for fertilization but has no womb. Transfers the partially fertilized egg, or unfertilized egg, to the Zhen.

**Zhen**\- Second half of what would be considered 'female' gender in Andorian physiology. Has no ovaries and produces no eggs, but does biologically have a womb which is used for the embryo upon collection of all gametes needed for conception.

* * *

**NEXT CHAPTER: **Tellarite and Andorian tensions rise, disruptions in energy readings plague the crew, a case of Déjà vu for our two Andorians, Talas and Shran, and Enterprise gets an uninvited guest…

* * *

**Yay or Nay?**

**Thank you all **for the lovely reviews! I spend quite a lot of time on each chapter on most of my fics, (Even when they don't turn out the best lol), and it's really nice to sit down and see people are reading and enjoying what I write. Thank you for the follows and favourites too, and I hope you all enjoyed chapter two!

If you could, **please drop a review**, they keep the muses focused!


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO:**

**I've Come a Long Bloody Way.**

* * *

_Harry's P.O.V_

Harriet stared hard at the strange bag in front of her. It had been a month since her devastating birthday. A month of uncertainty, resentment, sickness, and all things blue. Merlin knew how many mirrors she had broken in that time. In rage in the first few weeks, after she had groggily awoken in a quarantined room in St Mungo's, and Snape, of all people, had told her what had happened.

_Blood magic. Lies. Decidedly not a Potter. _

In those early days, Harry had spat, kicked, and thrown her fair share of punches. It was one of her biggest faults. Her anger. She couldn't help it. When confused, or hurt, she became angry, just like night turned to day. She tried, really she did, not to be that way. Most of the time, she succeeded now. Nevertheless, in the face of such unfortunate circumstances… She had _lost _it.

Poor Snape still had a black-eye.

It had been easy, you see, to think this all some horrible prank or ploy, and in turn, to get angry at those around her. Those she had been sure were lying to her. From underground Deatheater revival movements, to Draco Malfoy hexing her while she slept, all the way to Ron inadvertently poisoning her with Pixie blood, Harry had thought, and blamed, it all.

Then, two weeks after her first dreadful emergence from death's door… _Again_, Hermione had appeared in her room, wide-eyed with that sorrowful little smile she always had when she knew bad news was coming for Harry. The same one she had given Harry when Harry woke up after Sirius's death and thought it some nightmare. The same smile she had shot Harry at Dobby's funeral. Then, only then, in the face of her best friend and that terrible smile, Harry could no longer rest in comfortable denial.

Harry had broke that day. She had sobbed until she had no more tears, no more voice, hollow and weeping, and Hermione had stayed there, right there, at her side. That night, for the first time in her whole life, Harry had cursed her mother. Cursed her until she was blue in the face.

Ironically.

Of course, misery loved company, and as if finding out your father was not your father, that, by all signs of white fucking hair and blue fucking skin, and don't you dare forget about the bloody feelers on your forehead, you were likely _not _entirely human, this misery brought company too. In the following three weeks, Harry had nearly died a total of five fucking times.

The most worrying had been the fevers. Boiling, aching, delirious fevers that left Harry in constant seizures. Harry, it seemed, could not survive hot temperatures any longer. Hot being anything above 6 °C, exceedingly cold to those around Harry. Even then, 6 °C was _barely _tolerable to Harry. A few charms to keep her chill seemed to do the job, a cooling draught ever three hours helped, and the shower switched to freezing edged Harry's bets at survival, but Snape, in all his dreary wisdom, said it would not do for long term.

They needed answers.

And so, the stripping of Godric's Hollow, what remained of the ruins at least, began. They searched high and low for anything, anything at all, to give hint to Harry's parentage. In closets and cabinets, under floorboards and fridges, hidden in the corners of the attic. All turned up naught. Nothing. Zilch.

And then it came to her, as most things did, in a memory.

Harry remembered staring into the mirror of Erised, seeing her mother and father beaming back, her mother's hand on her shoulder, James Potter's glasses sitting wonky on the bridge of his nose, that awful twisting in her gut that this, her family, was all she ever wanted, and she, most prominently, remembered what had been in her mother's free hand.

A book.

Funnily, she recalled the title sprawled in cursive across the binding, having spent hours down in the bowels of Hogwarts staring at that damned mirror. Perhaps even more hilariously, or tragic if you were to look upon it from the other angle, it had been called All The Things I Never Told You.

Turns out, the bookcase in the bedroom, where that very bloody book was housed, was spelled to hide a cubbyhole. The only way to open the thing had been to pull that exact book free. A little blackened mouth in the home to stash away all those secrets. Inside there had only been a bag. The very bag, made from some sort of strange metallic material, Harry was currently staring at.

"Are you going to open it Harry?"

Harry jolted at Hermione's voice from the corner of the sickbed she was still bound to in St Mungo's. Yes. No. Maybe? Harry knew she had to. There was only so many more fevers she could take before, as Snape told her, permanent brain damage would begin to accumulate. She also couldn't eat anything here, not even an apple. As soon as it was down, it was back up in a spew of bile. There was only so many replenishing potions, in place of food, Harry could take.

Only so more… Only so more… Only so more… That was all she kept being told.

Yet, horrendously simultaneously, Harry thought there was only so much more she could take finding out was complete bullshit. What was in this bag? The truth? Nothing at all? Harry didn't know which one she would prefer. Neither. Both? Morgana… Taking on Voldemort had been easier than this. Easier than realizing your life had been one giant fucking lie.

"Can't you open it, professor?"

Harry asked Snape, who had been lurking in the corner of her medical room. If Snape opened it, then, Harry thought, it might be easier to swallow. She could, in a way, detach herself from it, be a viewer and not a participant. If Snape opened it, it would be out of her hands. Maybe, just maybe, she could pretend this, all this, was happening to someone else. Snape, for once, likely seeing those very thoughts playing in her emerald eyes, that she had thankfully kept, under the low light of St Mungo's, looked sympathetic to her plight. Perhaps even kind.

"It's spelled to only open to those of Lily's blood. I assume, as her daughter, yours too. I'm afraid only you can, Pott-… Harriet."

Harry winced at his slip._ You're not a Potter. Never have been. Lies. Lies. Lies. _ Nevertheless, it gave her the spark of anger, anger at, once again, having everything she'd ever known, thought true, shaken and stripped from her reaching hands. Anger that helped her push through the absolute fear that had been haunting her since blearily blinking awake. Fear of the truth. Fear of… Fear that Harry wasn't all that Harry anymore.

There was nothing more crushing than realizing you might lose all that made you _you_.

Reaching out, she flipped open the clasp of the bag.

* * *

_Shran's P.O.V_

Something was horribly, horribly wrong, Shran concluded. The Andorian ship that had hailed them not even a standard hour ago had, in fact, attacked them. Nearly killed them. Shran had no choice. Under threat of death, carrying his injured crew, Shran had given Archer the coordinates for the Andorian shield generator. The hit had done _nothing._ It was impossible, ridiculous, yet, true. The shot had done _nothing._ The Andorian vessel had fired another five hits, all thankfully missing main systems, before it had dropped to warp, to space unknown.

In the wake of the attack, here Shran sat in a small room, around a glossy metal table, opposite the Tellarite ambassador, with Archer at the head. Unlike the Tellarite and himself, Archer chose to stand, hands on the back of his chair, spine stiff and unforgiving.

"Your government asked us to be a part of this conference, and now you're attacking us?"

The pig of a Tellarite, with his podgy, dirty hands folded in his lap, his pug nose curled smugly, huffed a scoff.

"This makes perfect sense, Captain. They sent out a distress call to lure you into a trap."

Shran tried, he really did, to keep a tight hold of his wrenching temper. Yet, as most Andorians were, he too was quick to lose grasp on his emotions. No other emotion was as slippery to restrain than anger to an Andorian. Shran wasn't a diplomat. Never had been, never would. Soft emotions and softer words were not in his DNA. Still, he tried, and that had to count for something with the Pink-skins, surely?

"We have no argument with Starfleet."

Shran implored Archer to see. The Tellarite gargled a snarled.

"Your people tried to destroy this ship!"

Shran refused to look over at the Tellarite, hoping with it out of his sight, he might just be able to hamper his Ilux'agrok. Instead, he focused on Archer, focused on his breathing, and, perhaps most importantly, focused on the truth.

"Captain, I assure you, what happened does not represent the will or intent of my government."

Anew, the Tellarite shoved himself into the conversation, snuffling over the table at him.

"Admit the truth! The Imperial guard never wanted this conference to take place. They've obviously taken matters into their own hands."

Shran's antennae reared back, ram straight, voice low, relentless, misleadingly relaxed, as he gradually turned to face that which was, as humans would say, skating on thin, thin ice.

"Are you implying the Imperial Guard has been disloyal?"

The Tellarite licked a fatty, purple tongue at his bottom tusks.

"I don't have to imply anything. The facts speak for themselves."

Smashing his fists unforgivingly into the table, so hard he dented the metal, Shran was up and out of his seat, scarcely in command of his own body. There was no graver insult, none ever thought or spoken to his people, than calling, directly or indirectly, an Andorian _disloyal_. It was the one line you _never_ crossed with an Andorian. At his abrupt standing, the Tellarite was scuttling and heaving out of his own seat, trotters braced on the table edge as the two leaned in close.

"That may _not_ have been an Andorian ship!"

Shran declared. Archer, who had been beckoning his guards over, likely in hopes to defuse the Tellarite and Shran before full out combat took place, frowned darkly. At least Shran _thought_ the human was frowning. Humans and their faces… It was hard to tell sometimes.

"What?"

Shran, through clenched teeth, sliced the air with his hand, never, not once, letting his eyes trail away from the Tellarite still sneering at him.

"The shield matrixing had a completely different configuration!"

The Tellarite spluttered, spittle spraying into his bushy beard, across the table, splattering Shran's top.

"What is_ that_ supposed to prove?!"

So, not only were Tellarites liars, distrustful and greedy, they were dumb too?

"Some of our warships have been reported missing over the years! The Tellarites could have taken one of them! Enhanced its systems!"

The Tellarite had the gall to laugh at Shran. Right in his face, placing its greasy hands over its plump stomach, head flying back in a roar of craggy laughter. It took everything Shran had not to reach out and snap its bared neck.

"He's suffering from paranoia, Captain!"

Shran shook his head in disbelief. In fury. In affront.

"I am _not_ paranoid! Your people _are_ trying kill us! Just like you killed my Bondmate and child!"

The Tellarite flashed his tusked teeth at Shran callously.

"Two less Andorians in this galaxy is something we should all be thankful for! Be grateful it was an auxiliary explosion, swift and quick, and not a breach that sucked her out into space to die slowly!"

Shran was over the table. His arm was swinging backward. His fist hit the Ambassador's face with a sickening crunch as the Tellarite went flailing back, into the table, falling. Shran had him around the throat, fingers tight and bruising, his fist raising again, knuckles split, bleeding, as the Starfleet guards grabbed him and hauled him off, others, Archer included, yanking the Tellarite away, ushering them both to opposite ends of the room.

It mattered not.

Shran _knew _now. This Tellarite, this so-called ambassador, this… He had been there that day. He had been on the Tellarite vessel which had attacked the Kumari seventeen years ago. _He had to be._ The details of his Bondmates death, sweet Lily's death, his _child's _death, was not public. It was an Imperial secret, due to Lily's... Special-ness. The only way for this swine to know she had died in an explosion, not in the ventilation of space, would be if he had _been_ there.

Possibly even gave the order.

Archer began to yell, red-faced and angry, Shran could tell by the tone and pitch of his voice. It mattered not. Nothing did. Not in light of this revelation.

"That is enough! You want to fight? I'll throw you both in the brig! You can tear each other to pieces there!"

* * *

_Harry's P.O.V_

That night, after Hermione and Snape had left her to slumber after pouring potion after potion down her sore throat, surrounded by the crumbs she had found in the bag, Harry came to a startling realization. Potter or not, pink skin or not, Harry was Harry, and no one, _nothing _could or would change that. In fact, in a so very strange way, she _grew. _Her last name may have been snatched from her viciously, but, in its wake, Harry had something entirely more precious.

_Hope. _

The bag did not contain much, not to those looking, as Snape and Hermione had, for medical clues to helping Harry keep down a bowl of chicken soup or how not to have her jumping in a frigid shower every hour, but, to Harry, it contained so much fucking more.

There had been, on top, a set of clothing. Bizarre, unusual clothing. A body suit of some kind, thin but strong, very bloody strong, made from some kind of linen that meshed in a flow of light blue, almost white. A sleeveless tunic too, darker blue, Harry thought, maybe, went over the tight body suit. This one was thicker than the body suit, high collard, falling to thigh, trimmed with fur, feeling like a hybrid between velvet and silk. A pair of gloves and fur boots matched it.

However, what was most interesting, Harry would say, was the sheer snow toned sash that came along with it. It seemed old, very old, lovingly cared for, and when folded, put on, Harry assumed it went across the body, from shoulder to hip, at breast were four symbols. Three were strange, blocky,_ alien, _but the last in the diamond shape Harry knew. Initials.

_L.E_

Her mother. Underneath had been a necklace, once again comprised of those symbols, etched onto… Harry thought the pendent was crystal, but, under the light, it shimmered like ice. Beneath that had been a book. A little yellow book_. A diary_. Her mother's name was embossed on the front. Yet, it was the last in the pile, a little square piece of metal, that caught Harry's attention.

Harry had opened it by accident, in truth. Ran her thumb over the little ball on the front after Snape and Hermione had left, as she had gone to put it away, and the bloody thing had burst open. Rays of blinding light had shot out, Harry had ducked, thinking a nasty hex was on it's way, when she heard laughter. Low, soft, pleasant. She had blinked up from her huddle and everything had changed.

_We love you!_

It was like a wizarding photo in a way, but… 3d and with sound, hovering over the metal slate. Harry could walk around it in a wide arch, and still, the figures would follow her. Her mother's smiling face looked towards her from a bundle of blue people. They were all laughing, clustered warmly, smiling so fiercely at her that it almost hurt to look upon them.

One of the blue men, with sloping straight white hair that trailed to his shoulders, leant his head on her mother's shoulder, winking back. The other man had an arm slung over her mother's shoulders, blue hand resting over the cheek of the other man, his cropped white hair as curly as Harry's, grinning broadly, his free hand resting on Lily's stomach. A woman, just as blue and white as the other two, was at the back, tall and imposing. Her serious, sharp angled face only lightened by the dimpled grin she, too, was sporting, resting her chin on the crown of Lily's head, almost possessively, her arms spread around the three, pulling them all close, together. Their feelers wiggled their greetings at her.

A tangled heap of one.

She saw herself there, in the round stomach of her mother… And she had never seen a group of people look so happy before. They waved at her, laughing, wiggling, shouting out. _We love you! _The recording started all over again. Harry dared not stop it. She didn't think she could even if she wanted to.

One of these men… One of them… That was her _father_. Perhaps the other two, who were similarly ecstatic, were her aunt and uncle.

This was her family.

It all hit her then. Really, truly, irrevocably hit her. All the things she had not allowed herself to contemplate. Her father could _still _be alive. He could be out there, waiting for her, right… There. Harry had always wanted family, it had been one of the only things she had ever wanted, dreamed of, and she had thought… There had been no chance before, they were dead, buried, cold… But this…

She had a father.

That was a strange realization to come to at seventeen, she would admit, but it made her hungry. Ravenous. She wanted… She wanted_ this._ This recording. The smiles and giggles and merriment. She wanted that with everything she ever had and so much more she didn't know she held. It burnt. It ached.

_We love you!_

The recording started again just as Harry went for the diary, flipping open the pages. She had not realised she was crying until a lone tear splashed on the ink, smudging her mother's handwriting.

_Dear Harriet, if you are reading this, I could not get us home. I am so sorry, my love. I tried; I really did. I am hoping, as I asked him to, if me and James have perished, Sirius has found this book, learned my story, and is on his way to getting you to your parents. If, Merlin forbid, Sirius has been unable to, and you are reading this, I have failed you, as I have failed Shran, Thrass and Telas. Yet, if you are reading this, there is still hope. I can get you home, to where you are supposed to be, to those who will love you more than anything. Home… Where you will be safe._

_I know you must be confused right now. Perhaps even angry. I do not blame you. You have to know, though, that what I did, I did in thinking it was best for you. All I have ever done is for you, my love. You must have so many questions. I suppose I should really start at the beginning, yes? It all started when I was sent to work on the Veil…_

* * *

_Shran's P.O.V_

An hour later, after being confined to his room, solitarily, Archer having been smart enough not to put him with his crew should Shran try to leave and find those damned Tellarites, under heavy guard, Archer had finally summoned him to the bridge of the Enterprise. Marching in, he was met with Archer in the lower stations at the back of the bridge, nestled with the Vulcan.

"T'Pol's found something you're going to want to see."

Archer called as he waved Shran over and down into the pit. Slowly, Shran came close, down the steps, his boots clinking heavy on the metal. _Not as heavy as his spirit. _With her hands primly clasped behind her back, T'Pol, standing tall near a lit statistics screen, regarded Shran with a shrewd eye.

"We found this in your ships data recorder."

She turned to tap away at the control panel, and Shran watched as the screen flicked to a reading of the schematics of a ship.

"This is the power signature of the vessel that destroyed the Kumari."

Shran strode over, eyeing the sweeping lines of the chart as, once again, T'Pol began to tap away. A new image popped up at the bottom, pushing the other to the top of the screen.

"This signature belongs to the Andorian ship that attacked Enterprise."

T'Pol met his eye then, pressing one final button as the two graphs morphed over the other, overlapping. Archer verbalized the incredulity they all saw.

"They're identical."

Shran's antennae flickered back and forth. Sweeping. He searched the graph. For the first time in an hour, his mind wasn't trapped on that Tellarite, on what he would do to him once he got a hold of him, and instead, lept into a churning mist of confusion.

"That can't be correct."

T'Pol's gaze flickered to her Captain before it was pinned to him again. If Shran didn't know better, he would say her voice held a tone of wounded, agitated pride.

"Examine the data yourself."

Shran peeled back.

"Your sensors are unsophisticated. There's been a mistake."

Where the humans trying to say that it was an Andorian ship masquerading as a Tellarite vessel that had attacked them? Their own people? That, perhaps, he had been lying? That all this was the Andorians? No. No! How could they, having spent such time together, get Andorians so wrong? No. Shran was sick of playing nicely. Archer, in turn, shook his head.

"We've confirmed the data."

Shran took a loping step forward, away from the screen, closer to Archer.

"What are you suggesting? That these two vessels are actually the same ship?"

Archer huffed, shoulder's hardening, a bite to his voice.

"I don't know _what_ I'm suggesting. But we need to keep our minds open."

Shran's antennae pointed together, aiming dead at Archer, another step. And another. Closer. Closer.

"The Tellarites have violated every accord we've made with them. They _can't_ be trusted. Your desire for a peaceful resolution is blinding you from the truth!"

Achingly, Shran thought he heard his Lily's voice in the back of his mind. Soft. Consoling. A lullaby long forgotten, but offering all the comfort a child needed in dire times. _Your anger at my death is blinding __you__ to the truth, Shran. Use that brain of yours, the one I know you have, and think. Don't do something reckless because of me. _

Shran shook his head. No. She was… His Lily was gone. So was his child. Because of that Tellarite! He knew it. _He knew it! _And they had taken the Kumari too. Taken everything. How much more was he supposed to stand?

Archer did that strange thing with his mouth, one Shran had seen a few humans make, corners pulling down sharply. Shran felt, more than saw, T'Pol move behind him, edging closer. The Vulcan and the human were boxing him in, surrounding him, and if they knew anything about an Andorian, anything at all, they must have known how foolish it was to drive, both physically and metaphorically, one into a corner.

"Commander, If-"

Shran cut the Vulcan off Briskly. Swivelling around, before she could do much more than lift her booted foot to try and take a step backwards, he snatched the collar of her shirt, dragged her close, cursing her in the face.

"I've heard enough from you! Vulcans are expert liars. Perhaps _your_ people are behind this!"

Archer's hand clamping onto his shoulder was merciless, harsh, tense. A warning.

"You are speaking to my first officer!"

Shran didn't care. He didn't care what these Pink-skins might or might not be implying. He didn't care if it was an Andorian ship, with an Andorian crew, which had attacked both the Kumari and Enterprise. He didn't care if the Vulcans were involved. He didn't even care what the Imperial Guard would do if he were to march right to the Tellarite chambers and slay every one of them despite his direct orders to keep low.

There was an anger in him in that moment, as he thought of that Tellarite sitting well and alive in a room while his Bondmate, his precious child, were gone. A cold black thing, slick and dark and hungry, and he needed to do something. Fight. Punch. Kick. He needed it gone. Out of him.

By the spirits, it _hurt. _It hurt so much.

It was like he was losing them all over again. Watching, helpless, frozen in time and space as his Lily, with those keen green eyes and soft smile, her hands on that swollen stomach, was snatched from him in a blaze of fire.

The computer beeped and everything snapped too with a startling clarity. Air filled Shran's lungs in a rush. His hand dropped from T'Pol's suit. Carelessly, Shran noticed Archer pull his hand from Shran's own shoulder.

"Tucker to the bridge."

Archer strolled to the comm system, flipping a switch.

"Go ahead."

This Tucker's voice warbled horrendously through the poor system.

"Warp engines will be online in ten minutes. We'll have hull plating back within the hour. However, I'm sending some ensigns up to deck three where the Tellarite delegation is stationed. There have been reports of energy fluctuations radiating out. One even said he saw… Well, what he called, little cracks of lightening in the… Air."

Shran, in all his brilliance, unfortunately, was long lost before the end of Tucker's speech. He had heard deck three, Tellarites, and his attention had waned. He knew where the Tellarites were now. No longer safe and hidden from his reach. He knew where that swine was.

Archer frowned and glanced to T'Pol. She leant over him, towards the comm system.

"Perhaps it is loose wiring, or a faulty system sparking out from the air ducts?"

Deck three was four decks bellow Shran's own. Just four. If he took to engineering channels, he could easily make it to deck three undetected. That is, firstly, he needed to figure out how to get out of his guarded room once Archer threw him back in. If he-

Tucker answered back.

"That's what I'm thinking. The ensigns should have it all found and fixed by the time the hull plating is finished, and then those damned Tellarites will stop accusing us of trying to electrocute them."

Archer nodded.

"Keep me updated."

He ordered before he switched the comm off.

"We've located the warp trail of the ship that's attacked us. We're going to follow it."

Archer said, bringing Shran back into the present. Shran flared indignantly.

"Some of my crew are in serious condition and they need attention from_ our _physicians."

Archer gave a long-suffering sigh and Shran… Shran was done. What were they expecting of him? Did they think he would sit quietly in his locked cell, wait for the small amount of his surviving crew to die around him? They needed doctors! Their own doctors! The Denobulan was good, but he could not fix the more in-depth injuries some were suffering from. All the while, Archer would pander to the Tellarites? The very same that had taken so much from him? Side-lined and forgotten for a… For a warp trail?!

"It will take four days to get to Andoria. By then, that ship will be long gone. I'm sorry Shran, but this is more important."

Archer tried to reason, but Shran was no longer listening. This was Archer's ship and he would do as he pleased, even if Shran's own men died in the med-bay and the Tellarites could walk around freely.

To an extent, he understood it. They needed to find this ship to figure out what was going on, to discover how two very different ships could have the same signature, but that understanding could not sooth Shran's anger. Only Lily had been able to do that, Telas would always say, and she was gone.

If Archer was not going to do something, as Shran had given him the hour to do… Shran would.

"Can you bring me Telas? I wish to see my Bondmate."

Nodding, silent, Shran let Archer sequester him back to his rooms, under guard. Deck three…

* * *

_Harry's P.O.V._

"James knew."

Hermione glanced up from her seat at Harry's bedside, nose stuck in another healing scroll. Harry had been up all night, flicking through the diary, page after page, story after story, transfixed.

"Jame's… He knew. He willingly gave his blood to Lily for the spell. They thought… They thought the Ministry, with its attitudes towards magical creatures, would take me. Use me. _Hurt_ me. They… They did it all to protect me. Lily thought she could get us back and repair the spell before... Before my magic matured and I would nearly die."

Hermione slowly lowered the scroll, and Harry couldn't help but notice the way her eyes flashed to the door before they snapped back to Harry. She leant in close.

"Your mother had a point. This morning, on our way in, Snape noticed… Well, a unit of Aurors are patrolling your corridor. Looks like news has broke about your… Change, and the ministry's finally caught wind. We, well, _I_ thought it might be for protection, you know? Who knows what insane witch or wizard, one with a grudge against you, will try with this for justification? But Snape… Snape didn't seem convinced. He seemed… Worried."

Harry swallowed deeply.

"I-… They're alive, Hermione. They-… I can't explain it all. It's… It's half insane. I-… My fathers, mother… Merlin, Hermione, what I am, they mate in _fours_. Fours! I have another three parents out there and-… The book, in the back, mum explained what happened. She was working on the Veil for her master of Charms dissertation. She got cocky, began trying out experimental spells for the extraction of souls lost to it, and one went wrong. It exploded. She got thrown through but she ended up-… Well, she wrote the spell down. It's all here, in this book."

Harry met Hermione's eyes.

"There's a way back… There's a way to find my parents."

Hermione's voice faltered, sticky and thick like honey. Harry's hearts both skipped a beat. She hated hearing Hermione upset.

"You're… You're leaving, aren't you?"

Harry licked at her dry lips.

"I think I have to Hermione. I-… My parents… It's all I've ever wanted and there's a way to find them and… I have to _try._ I need to do this."

Hermione nodded her head frantically, curls bouncing.

"Of course, Harry. I suppose it's for the best. If Snape is right, if these Auror's are waiting for down time to nab you and cart you off… Well, it's best if we get you out of here before they have the chance, right? And, I think, they, your parents, will now how to help you. Much better than I and It's for the best and-"

Hermione always rambled when she was on the verge of crying. Harry cut her off sharply, but her voice, too, had become rough with emotion.

"Hermione… I love you. You know that right? You're my best friend. I'll find a way back to visit. It's possible, after all. Mum came back and so will I. You can't get rid of me that easily. But… But I need to go. I need to find them. _I need to try._"

Hermione smiled through the tears cresting at her lash line. When Harry promised something, even if it was something as outlandish as visiting through the Veil, she would do it. By Merlin, she would do it. Hermione knew that. So, as she stood, stretching out her hand for Harry to take, to help get her weak friend out of bed, Hermione knew this wasn't a goodbye so much as a see you soon.

It didn't make it hurt any less.

"Well, no time like the present. We better get you to the Veil, then, shouldn't we?"

* * *

_Harry's P.O.V_

For the first time in a whole month of hell, Harry smiled at her reflection. Dressed in the clothes she had found in the strange metallic bag, Harry looked alien, foreign… And exactly as she should. Flicking the long white braid of her hair over her shoulder, she clasped the necklace around her neck, the pendant falling to her chest and with it, a smile lit up her face. That was it. This was her. Feelers, blue and all.

It was strange how natural it felt.

"Please, Harriet, there is no time for dawdling if I am to get you to the Veil room in the Ministry. We only have a short window of time to get in and out, and I will not risk going to Azkaban for you. Now, put the scarf and goggles on, and let us move already!"

Catching the scarf and goggles Snape had sent sailing across the air with a flick of his wand, Harry shirked them on hastily, spending a moment looking in the mirror to make sure all her skin was covered. The last thing they needed, while, yet again, breaking into a restricted area, was for Harry to get spotted because, let's face it, a blue face was easy to spot in a crowd. Still, with Harry as weakened as she was, still filled with cooling draughts, chill spells and lack of food, they couldn't risk a glamour without, as Snape snarled almost as if it was a threat, completely fracturing her magical core.

Scarf and goggles seemed a good muggle fix.

Once done, Harry joined Snape and Hermione by the door, slipping her arm through the crook of Severus's offered elbow.

"Ready?"

The girls nodded.

"Ready."

By the time the Auror's slipped into the healing chamber that night, wands raised with stunning spells on the tips of their tongue, it was too late.

Harry was gone.

* * *

_Shran's P.O.V_

The bang of the Tellarite delegation's chamber door being kicked open echoed out into the hallway. Gral, the Tellarite ambassador, jumped from his seat, huddled behind his aides, wheezing and panting.

"What is the meaning of this!?"

No help came from his shout. The Starfleet guards in the hallway were slumped together in an unholy pile of tangled limbs. Stunned. Talas, in all her six-foot, livid glory came thundering in, followed quickly by a darkly glaring Shran. Both were armed with phaser pistols. It had been easy to see Telas, to play on Archer's notions of romance, and to pass along all Shran had learned about the Tellarites in Andorian as if he was passing whispers of love.

Telas had lost it as soon as they were alone.

Like he, she wanted revenge. Honour. Justice. She wanted Gral under her boot. Especially when, in the safety of their room and away from prying eyes, she had told Shran she had learned, from whispers outside, the Ambassador had been a tactical officer in his prime. _He had been the one to fire the shot. _Shran had never been one to deny her anything, his strong, fierce Telas, and so, their great escape had gone underway. Really, it was the Pink-skins fault.

They needed better security.

Telas stormed across the room, butt of her phaser raised high, slicing through the air as she struck Gral in the face with it. Grum, Gral's main aide, made to move against Telas, but Shran was already in motion, snatching up his shirt, phaser pointed to the back of Grum's head. He met Gral's eyes from over Grum's shaking shoulders.

"I want to know why my ship was attacked, and then, you're going to answer for your crimes against my people."

In the face of Shran's demand, the swine said nothing. He looked to Grum, looked to Shran, looked to Grum again, and then his pug nose rose high into the air. Shran stunned Grum, kicked his falling body away, and took aim at Gral's head. His nose dropped, but no words came.

"We know your government is behind the disappearance of our freighters. We know you were on that Tellarite vessel seventeen years ago. I know you were tactical officer aboard that ship. I know you fired the shot that took my Bondmate and child. Now, talk!"

Telas thundered, her voice taut and sore, throbbing in a way Shran had not heard in many a year, almost deafening with mania as her hand shot out, constricting around Gral's neck. The Tellarite coughed savagely, snarling, dribbling.

"We had nothing to do with that!"

Telas cranked his head back as Shran shoved the phaser under his chin.

"You may have been able to convince Archer, but I am not so gullible. It was your vessel that attacked the Kumari seventeen years ago. It was your vessel that fired upon us without provocation. It was you who pressed the button. How else did you know we had complete auxiliary collapse? That my Bondmate and child died in an explosion? That record is protected by Imperial Command of the highest order! Only those aboard my ship and aboard the other would know what had passed in so much detail!"

There was a moment, just one, where Gral's bottom pointed lip quivered. Where Shran thought he might talk. Yet, nothing came but silence. Shran eased back.

"I don't know a lot about Starfleet weapons, but I believe this setting…"

Shran deliberately tossed the phaser over, flashing the nozzle on the side to the Tellarite as he pointedly cranked it over to the far right. Telas stepped back, away from the line of fire, to his shoulder as he pulled it up once more, levelling it between Gral's wide, panicked eyes.

"-Will bore right through that thick hide of yours."

Leisurely sinking it lower, he pressed the phaser into the fat of the Tellarites bulbous belly, pressing in harshly. The last aide standing, who had been shocked into silence at the sudden threat, flustered and howled before Telas shot a warning glare that shut the blubbering mess up.

"The truth! Now!"

Telas barked. The ambassador broke in a torrent of spit, clucking tusk, and musky sweat.

"Yes! That was my ship that attacked yours those years ago! And yes, I was tactical officer! I fired that shot! But I had my orders as you've had yours! We knew you were going to fly to the colony as support and it was our job to cut you off before you could join ranks and stop us! Before we could reclaim the colony you stole from us! I am sorry you lost your Bondmate and child in the process, that was never my intention, but it was war!"

Bravely, Gral pushed himself into the phaser, head aloft with courage.

"How many Tellarite ships have you destroyed, Commander Shran? How many Tellarite orphans have you made? If I must answer for my part, you must answer to yours too, Andorian!"

Green eyes. Terrified. Rounded stomach. Flames. Hot, white flames. Screaming. His own screams. Shran could see it all again, and again, and again. Replaying in his mind's eye. Shran was not a good man. Perhaps he never had been. Being in the Imperial Guard, as high as he, did not allow for morals or virtues. So, yes. Perhaps he too had made orphans. Perhaps, he too, had ripped families asunder. Perhaps, Gral was right, war was war… But-… His Lily, his child… Telas shook his shoulder.

"You heard him! It was his ship that took Lily from us! Our child! Kill him!"

A good man would understand Gral's predicament. A good man would lower his phaser and walk away. A good man would help Archer in his search for the trail, instead of seeking cold justice. Nevertheless, Shran was not a good man. He had not been since that fateful day.

Shran's finger tightened on the trigger of the phaser, seconds from firing, before, from the bent, broken door, Captain Archer of all people came tumbling around, chest heaving from a run, swiftly followed by his Maco's.

"Stay out of this Pink-skin!"

Shran growled. Archer, in turn, pulled out his own phaser, took target at Shran's head. His guards followed suit, aiming at Telas, who, to keep the aide from running, had knocked him to his knees, phaser pressed to crooked neck.

"Shran, listen to me. The ship that attacked you wasn't Tellarite."

Shran barked back.

"I was there!"

Archer, sensing the tight-rope he was walking, tried valiantly to keep his voice steady. There was no point. Andorian hearing was better than that of a human. Shran could hear the chirruping of fear edging at the corners of his voice.

"I can prove it."

In a sign of trust, one Shran would never have done himself, especially in a moment such as this, Archer pulled his phaser up and slowly put it away in the holster of his belt.

"You're both being set up. Your ship was attacked because someone didn't want this conference to go forward."

Shran shook his head.

"Who?"

Archer, gently, moved towards him, hands raised, palms out.

"I am asking you, one Captain to another, look at the evidence before you do something you are going to regret."

Shran stared at Gral. Dryly, sombrely, perhaps sounding more like a shattered sob than anything else, Shran chuckled.

"It doesn't matter. They may not have attacked us this time, but he was the one to attack us last. He admitted it. He was the one who slaughtered my Bondmate and child! You expect me to let that go, Pink-skin!?"

Archer's gaze shot to the Tellarite, and upon seeing the contrite face, when no denial came rushing forward, Archer, for the first time Shran had heard of him, swore. Bitterly, Archer scrubbed at his eyes with tired hands, his Adam's apple bobbed once, twice and then, in a rapid turn of the tables, it was he who was entreating Shran to see through his eyes.

"I would never ask for you to let that go, Shran. However, there's a bigger picture happening here. I am asking for you to put it away… For now. Someone wants this conference to fail. Someone wants you two at each other's throats._ Don't_ give that to them. The Ambassador will face justice… But not this way. _You_ were the one to give our names to Imperial Command to be mediators of this meeting. All I'm asking is for you to give me that trust again. Time. That's all I'm asking for here. _Time_."

Shran hesitated. Then, his finger slid from the trigger, his phaser dropped… _CRACK._

Vivid, brilliant white light erupted in the room. When the flash lessened, Shran saw, as the humans struggled for vision, in the close corner, a swirling mist, like a flap of a Kelthreh sash that all children wore, was flapping in invisible wind, like a veil had ripped in the very air and-…

Shran had seen this before. Shran had wished to see this a thousand times again. Shran thought he might be dreaming again. Telas, from his side, whispered one, lone word, her voice taking on the reverent, longing rhythm of a chant laid bare at the Spirits temple.

"Lily…"

Tucker's buzzing voice resonated in his head, words he had not paid attention to. Reports of lightening. Fluctuating energy… Just like his own ship all those years ago. Shran had been so blinded by the thought of justice, revenge, he had not connected the events. _CRACK_. Another flash burst.

A body came leaping out the veil, tumbling to the floor in a mass of splayed limbs on their back, just as the lightening zapping around the room ceased and the shift of air swirling seemingly ate itself out of existence. Their head was covered with some strange scarf, draped around skull and face, and the square of flesh this often left open, normally, was covered by a pair of dense, heavy black goggles. They were dressed… Well, they were dressed in traditional Andorian clothing, donning his Clan's colours, pale blue and white. There, around their torso, was the kelthreh sash, his, Telas's, Thrass's… Lily's names all staring back from silver thread at breast bone.

Shran's heart halted.

Sluggishly, the person came to a pottering stand, shaky on their legs. They were tall, so tall, just like Telas, six-foot at least, but lithe in place of Telas's robust hardness, as Thrass was. Shran couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, and yet, he could move, Shran discovered. Mindlessly, he stepped forward, empty hand raising, reaching, searching, begging, fingers spread open, name on the tip of his tongue-

The Tellarite ambassador's aide used this atmosphere of astonished wonderment for a distraction, noting Telas's lowered phaser, and stole it from her. Jumping up, he took aim, Telas shouted, and fired. Shran fired at the back of the aide, watched as he sank to the floor, dead, but Shran had been too late.

Yet, the outsider wasn't.

There was a snap in the air, the tall stranger disappeared in a puff, only to reappear at Telas's side, and with a tug and a yank, grabbed Telas out of the way of the shot. The wall smoked black behind them.

Starfleet too, it seemed, came back to life. Archer, again, was armed, as was his Maco's, all targeting the stranger by Telas's side. In turn, the person raised their hands, stepped away, backed up, right into the corner, a place their back was protected. Their glove's cuff had rolled up in the struggle, flashing a slither of blue skin. Shran's stomach plummeted.

It wasn't his Lily. His sweet Bondmate. He had thought, seeing the sash he had given her before she was meant to depart with Thrass for Andoria, that it was-

She was dead. Lily was dead.

Of course this wasn't her. Lily had been short, plumper. Then how did this person get the sash? And there, shining from their chest, the clan necklace meant for their child?

"Who are you? How the hell did you get onto my ship?"

At Archer's frosty, stinging command, the person, girl, she had soft curves to her hips, went to answer, but the scarf muffled her voice horribly. She held one hand higher, slowly, so slowly, using the other to go for her headscarf, unraveling it unhurriedly as she pulled it, and the goggles, off in one fell swoop. She looked up to them, grinning, scarf and goggle dangling limply between her clutched fist.

The world beneath Shran's feet ceased to exist.

He saw Lily's sweeping nose, slightly upturned, plush lips and eyes so green, a green Shran never thought he would see again. He saw Telas's prominent dimples, the high arch to her eyebrows shining back from this girls face. He saw Thrass's thin neck and slightly pointed chin, melting into his own sharp cheekbones and large eyes, and though her forehead was smaller, closer to Lily's, she cocked her brow just as Shran did… By the Spirits, she had his curls!

His phaser fell to the floor with a clack. Or it was Telas's knees hitting the floor, or his too… He wasn't sure what was happening around him, with him, outside that hauntingly, achingly familiar face.

The girl's gaze fixed to Archer, smile still hot and warm, white teeth flashing against blue skin, and Shran was _lost_.

"Don't shoot! I don't mean any harm! I swear! My name… My name's Harry. I'm… I'm looking for the ship, Kumari? Is this it? I was told my parents were on it. Shran? Thrass? Telas? Do you know them by any chance? I've come a long bloody way."

* * *

**DICTIONARY:**

**Ilux'agrok- **"Icy rage," having more or less the same connotations as "cold fury" in English. In Andorian belief, "hot" anger is healthier – a natural emotion that arises in response to understandable circumstances, and can be calmed far more easily. The ice-rage is at best a temporary madness that can be controlled to devastating effect against enemies, and at worst the insanity that nearly doomed their world. It was the ilux'agrok that the code of Lor'Vela, the ushaan in particular, was created to protect Andoria against.

* * *

**Thoughts?**

**A.N: **Well, hello dear readers! Long time no see! I know, I know, I'm bloody awful. I will be the first to admit that. I really did mean to update this as soon as possible, but things got away from me… Yet, here we are! For all your patience, I've got this whopping 8k chapter, and I really hope it, at least halfway, makes up for the atrocious wait I made you all go through. Hopefully, I can get back on track with this fic, and my other ones, so hopefully, the next update won't take so long.

**NOTES: **This chapter takes place in the episode Telas dies. I knew, from beginning, that, one; I didn't want Telas to die, and two; I wanted Harry to appear right in that moment. I think it was kind of poetic, in this fic, for it to happen that way. Lily disappeared, thought died, by yanking Telas out of the way of death. I wanted Harry to become a sort of juxtaposition of that, by pulling Telas from death and appearing. It creates a neat little circle for mother and daughter.

I also wanted to underline Harry and Shran's similarities by having them both fighting their anger. I think this helps create a bind between father and daughter, and also, as in Canon, stays true to both their characters. Shran is always getting dramatically angry, sometimes for rightful reasons, as is Harry in canon. Yet, as with Canon, both are almost transfixed and would do anything for family, and I hope this comes through and I haven't completely botched it lol.

* * *

**THANK YOU, NO, REALLY, THANK YOU **to all the follows and favourites and, of course, reviews! They all mean so much, and are the life-blood of this fic. I hope, in some way, be it one line or one paragraph, you liked this chapter. If you could, drop a review! They keep the muses from going on strike lol. And, hopefully, I will see you all soon!


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